


Tacos

by GlitterLoveGlambert



Category: Adam Lambert (Musician), Tommy Joe Ratliff (Musician)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-29
Updated: 2011-07-29
Packaged: 2017-10-21 22:57:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/230786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlitterLoveGlambert/pseuds/GlitterLoveGlambert
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tommy really wants tacos, so bad he decides to make them himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tacos

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: This story contains alot of cussing, because it's in Tommy's POV, and some suggestive humor.  
> this story is 100% fictional, and I own none of the characters, brands, or TV shows named in this fic.

"Make me a taco?" I begged, sliding into Adams lap and wrapping my arms around his neck.  
"Make yourself a taco!" Adam half protested and half whined.  
"Noooooo! I don't wanna make a taco! I can't cook!" I pouted, sticking my bottom lip out as far as I could push it.  
"Can't you go to, like, Taco Bell?" He questioned. I unclasped my hands from his neck, placing one over my stomache and one over my mouth and proceeded to dramatically fake puke on his carpet.  
"Taco Bell is gross! They don't even use MEAT."  
"Then what the hell do you think they use?" Adam asked, sarcasm dripping from his voice.  
"Pwease make me a taco?" I pleaded, making the cutest eyes I could manage.  
"Shhhh! True Blood is back on!" Adam whined. I sighed and removed myself from his lap.  
"If I fuck up your kitchen it's not my fault!" I started walking away, down the hallway to the apartments kitchen.  
"If you fuck up my kitchen you'll get your ass in a french maid dress and clean it up." He called.  
"You wish, Lambert." I teased  
"I sure as hell do, Ratliff." He yelled back.

So. Tacos. Tacos need meat (unless you work at Taco Bell.) Meat is kept in the freezer. Or the fridge, or what the fuck ever. And to cook you need pans, right? I stared horrified ad the array of cabinets in this kitchen. Where the hell did Adam keep the pans? I picked a cabinet over the sink to check first. I pulled the metal handle and the mini door swung open a little too quickly, a tall cup made of frosted glass falling to the marble floor with a loud shattering sound. Damnit. I hope Adam didn't hear.  
"I'll go get that maid outfit." Shit. He heard. Just play this off, Tommy.  
"You know my size." Was the best comeback line I could think of.  
"Kay, I'll be right back." I heard his car keys clink and the door shut. Was he really going to get a maid outfit? I asked myself. Oh, who cares? This could be fun. I giggled to myself as I heard the scraping metal as the garage slipped opened and closed again, headlights shone through the house as he backed out of the driveway.

I finally found a pan in a cabinet nearest the fridge, of course the last one I looked in. Next I had to raid Adams fridge, technically it was ours since I'd recently moved in, but Adam did all the shopping while I ordered take out most of the time and made Adam get me drinks since I was so lazy.

I managed to find ground beef, onions, green peppers, and taco shells scattered around the fridge. It was like a damn scavenger hunt. So, now the stove. Was 9 to high? Didn't that setting, like, make water boil or something? Since I really didn't know how this worked I just decided on 5, the middle number. I pulled out a knife from the silverware drawer (At least THAT was easy to find.) Didn't onions make people cry? Guess we'll find out. I cut the onion in half easily, fourths, eights, sixteens, I just had to dice it. This should be fucking fantastic. I lined the blade up with a larger piece, maybe this would be easiest to cut? Wrong. One stroke of my wrist and the jagged metal met my thumb. Fuck. It didn't hurt, but there was blood on both the onion and the counter. I disposed of the bloodied onion and threw the large non-bloody chunks into the pan and was greeted with hissing. Was 5 to high? Oh well. I skipped the peppers and just threw the meat in, staring as nothing happened but more sizzling. How long was this gonna take? I poked at it with a fork, stared at it for five minutes, flipped the block of frozen meat over. Nothing.

I got bored quickly, and ran upstairs to our shared music room. I picked up my baby, my pretty cherry red bass guitar and started strumming.

The loud, obnoxious screech of a smoke alarm pulled my head from guitar land. I rushed downstars, no fire, just a shit ton of thick, black smoke. Adam's gonna be pissed. I clicked the burner off with the little white nob and pulled the pan of of it, blackened meat and onions sticking to the bottom and sides of it. Now what? I left the smoking pan on a counter top, probably leaving burn marks on it, and walked back to the living room. Guess I'd wait for Adam to get back with my maid outfit.

The garage door metal screeched again and Adams car horn went off as he pressed the lock button on the key box. The door was unlocked, and it was his house, so he walked right in, a bag in each hand.  
"How were your tacos?" Adam smirked at me.  
"Burnt." I mumbled, thankful the smoke alarm had stop wailing to embarrass me further.  
"Awww, I'm sorry, Glitters." He leaned down to kiss the top of my head.  
"You'll be more sorry when you see that kitchen." It was my turn to smirk at him.  
"Not if you're in a little skirt cleaning it up" He pulled a take out box marked "Taco Cabana" from one bag and, sure enough, a maid outfit from the other.  
"Be a good kitty and go clean up the kitchen then I'll give you a taco." He smiled seductively and threw the outfit at me. This'll be fun.


End file.
